Free to Go
by So Said the Gramophone
Summary: Bonding in the strangest sense of it. Tron gets it, and Leon is pretty sure he's bad at these second guesses. A story in drabbles.


Usual disclaimers apply.

* * *

**Free to Go**

**I.**

It's hard to tell what time it is down in the depths of the castle. Not that it would have mattered to begin with. Leon couldn't say that he had _perfect_ work ethics, everything people might have said aside. He worked. And he... well... worked. No point in stopping when he could get it _done_- putting it off would mean having more of it to do, later. Though, he'd definitely say that it was one hell of a learning curve. The system was old. Older than Leon was too comfortable with. He had to keep on his toes, and, really, who's bright idea was it, exactly, to take a system _this_ old, a system originally designed for a _nothing_ of this magnitude. It always ended in a slight pause, that thought. The same guy who named the security monitoring program TRON-JA307020. What it all _stood_ for was a simple click or question away. He wouldn't ask.

It didn't seem particularly important.

What _was_ important was expanding Tron's security reach. Cid knew more than Leon could honestly admit on that end. He concocted half the ideas in the first place.

So he toiled away at the terminal, tightening up Cid's loose ends, as planned an debated (even Cid needed time to do other things), fingertips flying across the keyboard, and Leon was pretty sure he had a headache, but the throb was dull-

Until the terminal screen went black.

Sudden panic jolted through Leon, sparking along nerves before his brain could keep it up, could log it away, _react_. Hands froze.

"I'm sorry, Leon, but Aerith asked me if I would ensure you stopped to take care of the things the Users needed to," the almost-animatronic sound of Tron's voice rose up. He sounded genuinely sympathetic in spite of it all.

It soothed the panic that one of the generators went out again, but not the irritated scowl.

**II.**

"And chess is mimicked war?"

"Something like that."

"The Users play this for fun?"

"Sometimes. It's a test of strategy."

There seemed to be a pause, as Tron did what... well, whatever it was that Tron did. Filed it away, worked it out, Leon didn't know, he couldn't see him. An A.I.'s pause could be entirely different compared to a human being's, or a moogle's, for that matter.

"Strategy," Tron repeated, and Leon wasn't sure if it was supposed to be conversation. "I would like to play chess with you, Leon."

Leon supposed he should have been surprised. But he wasn't. And Cid was nice enough to help set up parameters for a small program structure like that.

**III.**

Aerith has asked once. _Why don't you go in there and visit?_ He had never had a proper answer for it. He had reasons, excuses, maybe, as to why. 'Because it would be too easy to get lost in there' seemed like a strange one, so he never said it. Never said that the Programs there were so much easier to understand, most times, than human beings. They didn't think anything of his awkwardness, or, he hoped, _lied_. They did what they were supposed to. Their directive. A world where everything _ran like clockwork_ was so much more appealing than the chaos of everything else. Leon couldn't fool himself- people still...

Bothered him.

The steps to getting _better_ with it meant not backing out.

Something told him Aerith knew all that, that she hadn't asked because of his _anxieties_.

**IV.**

Tron fitted the data disc into place, and smiled.

Leon had made a face at him, when the Program circled back around, though he hadn't expected the bear hug. Undoubtedly Sora and his friends' doing.

**V.**

Playing chess on the terminal with Tron was _one thing_. 'In person' was another.

Leon had yet to win a single game. He wished he cared. Losing wasn't a pleasant thing. Not for him. It was easy to reason it away as a sort of essential thing for a security Program to understand, all things considered. Tron listened to him with a sort of closeness, in between turns. Leon would call him curious, definitely. Asked him questions, on occasions, an even seemed fine with Leon's poor attempts at what he had in his arsenal of supposed casual conversation.

It always ended up in "checkmate" and "one more time, you've _got_ to be cheating" and "I don't cheat, Leon".

Before he knew it, it was a regular thing. A welcome reprieve.

**VI.**

For years.

**VII.**

And whether it was because of habit, or because that was how it was, those hugs became near-friendly-returned-embraces.

He'd never know if Tron ever understood why Leon was still stilted about it, and awkward, and couldn't explain why he didn't really use the term 'friends' very openly. He liked to think that he did. Or that maybe someone secretly told him that even the simple things that came across the terminal window, when he worked, or just read there in the quiet hum of the computer room, meant more to him than he could ever say.

How do you go telling a Program "I value our companionship" without sounding completely in place with it?

_Not to interrupt your reading, but you should be in bed by now, Leon..._

If Leon smiled, vaguely, and almost responded with an 'I know', it couldn't have been an entirely bad thing, could it have. His fingers settled along the home row for a moment. He knew what he was going to say. It was the same thing he always did to that familiar question:

_In a little while._

Of course, he could have said it out loud, thinking back on it, when he settled into the chair, picking his discarded book for a moment. And he was sure he could have done something other than read one of the many tomes he'd collected aloud, too.

It didn't mean that he was going to.

**VIII.**

It seemed like a happy enough arrangement, anyways.


End file.
